


that pleases me

by mardia



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rugby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 05:18:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4422869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardia/pseuds/mardia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nightingale actually stopped dead in his tracks as he saw me on the stairs, in my dirty rugby kit, smeared with dirt and grass. I'd left the boots off outside, to avoid risking Molly's wrath. “Good Lord,” he said slowly, his eyes scanning me from head to toe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that pleases me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leupagus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leupagus/gifts).



> So leupagus sent out the prompt on tumblr about wanting porn based on either Nightingale or Peter in a rugby kit, and I took that and ran with it. Contains a woeful lack of actual rugby, my apologies.
> 
> Title taken from a Nina Simone song.

It was just my luck that Nightingale spotted me hobbling up the stairs to the closest bath in the Folly. “Peter, there--” He actually stopped dead in his tracks as he saw me on the stairs, in my dirty rugby kit, smeared with dirt and grass. I'd left the boots off outside, to avoid risking Molly's wrath. “Good Lord,” he said slowly, his eyes scanning me from head to toe.

I turned towards him as best as I could, gripping the railing for support—catch me going along with any of Lady Ty's schemes after this, it'd be a miracle if I could walk upright tomorrow.

Nightingale was still staring at me, and I could make out a gathering flush on his cheeks. Too exhausted to be more circumspect, I glanced down at myself, at my filthy kit and battered knees, then back at him and asked, “Wait, really? This works for you?”

Nightingale's flush only deepened, but he was still looking me over, and if I hadn't been aching all over from the bone-rattling hits I'd taken during the match, I'd have been far more interested in acting on that interest. Or in seeing exactly how far down that blush went. I had a pretty good estimate, based on the past few months, but it always paid to be accurate.

As it was-- “Help me upstairs to the bath and I'll explain.”

Nightingale's mouth turned up in a smile. “I look forward to hearing all about it.”

*

The whole mess had started with Lady Ty. Really, it started with me nearly being buried alive and her saving my life, and requiring one favor in return, to be given at the time of her choosing, as payment.

I'd had a fair few concerns about what this favor might entail, but as it turned out, what she wanted was my assistance in bringing the Folly into the twenty-first century, as she put it. She wanted me to get political, to schmooze with the other units, to assist her in bringing the Folly in from the shadows.

I wasn't exactly thrilled at the idea, and Nightingale didn't like it either. But as frustrating as she could be, Ty had a point. More to the point, she had one over on me, and we weren't in a position to refuse.

So I went out to the pubs, chatted up fellow constables, introduced myself to the wary DIs who knew of me by reputation—you crash one ambulance, I swear—and somehow I'd gotten myself invited to play in a weekly amateur rugby game.

Never mind that I don't play rugby, or even like rugby in particular, aside from tolerating it for Nightingale's sake. But this was politics, this was me owing a favor to a woman you really don't want to be owing favors to, so I stiffened my upper lip and went shopping for a rugby kit.

*

Nightingale, a little to my surprise, didn't call for Molly to help. He drew the bath himself, and got the paracetamol for my aching body. He even helped me undress—gently lifting the tight jersey over my shoulders, bending down to help me out of the shorts and socks.

His hands were gentle on my body, careful not to jar the bruises that were already starting to bloom on my skin. Any other time and I might've felt embarrassed, a bit—this thing between us wasn't new, but self-consciousness was a thing that died hard with me. But right now I felt too tired and sore to feel awkward, or to feel anything really but tired gratitude and appreciation.

Finally I slowly sank into the water, groaning. “Christ, that's hot.”

“It's good for you,” Nightingale said, but instead of leaving me to it, settled in besides the large clawfoot tub. If my face was feeling hot, having him look me over like that, I could blame it on the heat from the bath. Mostly.

I shifted a bit, wanting to stretch my legs out more, and hissed under my breath as the water touched one of the larger scrapes on my knee. “I'll find some bandages for that,” Nightingale said. “How was the match?”

“It was rugby,” I said. Nightingale just raised an eyebrow, and I relented. “They put me on the wing. Handed me the ball and told me to run like hell.” Nightingale was smiling at this, and I grinned at him and added, “Although I will say, I am now prepared to fully disagree with the notion that this is a game played by gentlemen. Bastards smashed me into the ground every chance they got.”

“Yes, I believe tackling is a thing that's been known to happen during a rugby match,” Nightingale said, dry as desert sand. When I glared at him, he grinned— _grinned._ Jesus, I still wasn't used to that, to having Nightingale look at me and seeing his whole face light up.

“Did you win?” he asked next.

“Yeah,” I said. “I even scored a couple of times. Went out for drinks after, made some good connections. Tyburn'll be pleased at least. At the politics _and_ me being beaten black and blue.”

Nightingale went a little quiet at that, while I finally started on scrubbing up with the washcloth, gasping a little whenever I hit a tender spot, which was often. “Here,” Nightingale said, when I started to painfully contort myself in order to reach my back. “Let me.”

I could've brushed him off, played the tough man. Except there was no point in pretending with Nightingale, especially when I didn't want to in the first place. So I handed him the washcloth.

After I was finished in the tub, I dried myself off and then hobbled into my bedroom, Nightingale at my heels. When I started to make my way to the dresser where I kept my boxers, Nightingale said, “Wait.”

I turned and looked at him. The flush was back to his cheeks, and God, the way he was watching me. All this time, and I still hadn't gotten used to it. I didn't want to get used to it—the open appreciation on his face when he looked at me, the surprised air to him, like I was something wonderful he didn't know he was allowed to have.

I never wanted to stop feeling surprised by that.

“You should come over and kiss me,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual. “You know, if you like.”

Nightingale looked at me for a moment longer, then smiled quietly, and he came to me and kissed me, his mouth hot and sure over mine. As we kissed, Nightingale gently led me to the bed, guiding me so I was lying back against the pillows, naked on top of the sheets.

When he finally pulled back, I raised an eyebrow at him. “So this was your nefarious plan, then?”

“Oh, yes, you've caught me out,” Nightingale said, doing his best to sound casual, but between his flushed cheeks and the tent in his trousers, little chance of making me believe that.

I made a big show of settling back into the bed, letting my legs fall apart. “So now you've got me here. What next?”

What was next, as it turned out, was Nightingale settling down between my legs. I knew then, what he wanted, what we wanted. But this being Nightingale, he drew it out, of course. Let his hand trail along my thigh, up over my hip until his thumb was on my nipple, playing with it until it was hard and I was moving restlessly.

It was like that, for a while—his hands on me, sometimes his mouth, always gentle, always sweet. Finally he had his hand round my cock and was stroking me, far too lightly to actually get me off, but still so good it had me rocking up my hips, trying to fuck his loosely held fist.

“Jesus,” I groaned out. “Thomas, come on.”

“If you like,” Nightingale said, his voice still so damned cool but his gaze hot as he looked at me, right into my eyes--before lowering his head and taking me into his mouth.

“Oh, God,” I said, faintly. Nightingale wasn't teasing anymore, he was just—setting up a rhythm, using his mouth and his hand to drive me out of my bloody mind, until I couldn't think of anything, anything at all besides him and what he was doing to me.

It went on like that, Nightingale's hands tight on my hips and his mouth on my cock, sucking me off, and I opened my eyes and looked at him there, between my legs, and that was it, I was gone, trying to call out a garbled warning but Nightingale just swallowed me down, his mouth gentling before he finally pulled off.

“Christ, come here already,” I said, breathless, and he did, not even hesitating before he kissed me, hard, the taste of me still in his mouth. I kissed him back, as hard as I knew how.

Nightingale wasn't playing at detachment now, his kisses desperate, nearly frantic.I tried to get his clothes off, at least get him out of that fucking sweater vest but he wasn't having it. Instead he just got his trousers open, and I went hot at the realization that he was going to just take his cock out right here and get himself off, because he couldn't stand to wait a minute longer.

“Yeah, come on,” I said, my voice low, urging him on. Nightingale seemed to just—just shudder at that, his grey eyes fluttering shut for a moment. I'd learned by now that while Nightingale would never engage in dirty talk himself, he did like to hear it from me. He liked it quite a lot in fact, and his reaction was enough to push me past my usual awkwardness until I was saying things to him out loud that I never dreamed I'd say.

“Should I leave the kit on, next time?” I asked, my hand creeping underneath his sweater vest, his shirt, until I was finally touching bare skin. He shuddered again at that, and I knew I was on the right track. “Would you like that? Get me to bend over, my boots still on, pull my shorts down and have me right there?”

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” Nightingale swore, and he gave me a bruising kiss, panting against my mouth while I reached down and helped to get him off, until he was coming in my hand, hot and slick.

I kept kissing him, his mouth, his cheek, the corner of his closed eye. At last I heard him chuckle, felt the vibrations of it. “That damned kit,” he muttered against my neck, and then I was laughing too.

Nightingale moved off of me, settling to the side of the bed, our legs still tangled together. He was watching me with the look of his I liked best, his eyes soft. “I'd like to see you play.”

I scoffed. “Nice try, Thomas. Next time there's a rugby match, you are going to be the one getting knocked about out on the pitch, not me.”

“Is that so?” Nightingale replied, sounding amused.

“Definitely. I'll be on the sidelines cheering, and you will be the one getting tackled into the dirt.” I hesitated, but it had to be said. “Besides, I think—it might not be a bad idea. Get you out there more, have people get to know you better.”

Nightingale didn't say anything for a moment, then said quietly, “You really believe that.”

I licked my lips. “People are...they're scared. The things that have happened lately, the Faceless Man, Lesley leaving, even going back to the Covent Garden riot. They know these horrible things are happening, more and more, and that we're the only people who can deal with it, and—they don't understand it. Any of it. The situation could be better, that's all I'm saying.”

Nightingale didn't reply to that at first, and I didn't press. At last he said, a finger trailing along my jaw, “Equal division of labor is only fair, I suppose.” I started to smile a little bit, and he added, dryly, “Not like you can be the only one getting knocked about into the dirt, what would people think?”

“Horrible things,” I said as solemnly as I could manage. When I leaned in to kiss him, I could feel Nightingale smiling against my mouth.


End file.
